


Hunger

by UserImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Castiel, Angry Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bloodlust, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Demon Dean Being an Asshole, Demon Dean Winchester, Depressed Sam, Dom Dean Winchester, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt Castiel, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Power Hungry Deanmon, Pre-meditated murder, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Smoking, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Soulless Dean, Sub Castiel, prayer kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UserImpala67/pseuds/UserImpala67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short summary: Demon Dean begins his killing spree and becomes thoroughly addicted to slaughter.  He is plagued still by thoughts of Castiel, his thoughts turn to fantasies and he finally decides to see if the "Angel of the Lord" will still answer his prayers.  </p><p>NOT A FEEL-GOOD FIC!</p><p>~Emery</p><p>MY INSPIRATION PLAYLIST (All the songs included in it) FOR THIS FIC CAN BE FOUND HERE:<br/>https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLazzTOezW68r99LNX7NyxE52T6zPChZSC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The thrill of the kill

**Author's Note:**

> ~*~*~*~  
> TIMELINE: SEASON 10!! SPOILERS  
> Set at the  
> Beginning of Season 10  
> Please forgive me if I made any mistakes or assumptions about how Dean is, but I haven’t seen ANY of the 10th Season, though I know pretty much all the things I didn’t want to find out until I could watch it, but *sigh* that’s life. Might mention some things that happened in earlier seasons.  
> I started this as a One Shot PWP, but like most of my stories, I got carried away and extended it. If you like it leave comments so I know to keep writing!  
> ~*~*~*

When a person dies their very last breath is said to carry the soul into the Afterlife. The body now the empty shell of a lifeless corpse. The heart ceases to beat; blood once pumped through the veins becomes thick as it congeals, muscle tissue stiffens as rigor mortis sets in and the corpse turns cold with algor mortis. 

Lifeless. Souless. Cold.

If this description of death were true then the recently deceased, currently soulless but now very much animate ‘corpse’ of one Dean Winchester should in fact feel very cold indeed.  
This contemplation caused the man with his back leaning leisurely against the lamp post to grin. His thick lips peeled back to expose a set of straight, off-white teeth and producing a look more akin to a wolf baring his fangs though his cheeks still dimpled and crows-feet crinkled at the corners of his currently human, absinthe colored eyes. This walking dead Winchester’s new smile struck fear in even the most hardened men he encountered. His smile was empty. As empty as his obsidian eyes and as warm as his bloodless heart.  
Cold was definitely the farthest feeling from the heat radiating through his body.  
It felt like he’d shot up liquid ecstasy straight into his veins, it pulsed through his fingers, up his arms, electrifying his entire body and flooding his chest with the intensity of blood bursting from a punctured jugular. 

No feeling could compare to this high and he bathed in the effects of his new found drug. The thrill of the kill.  
It started out as a game. Hunting people, just like he and his poor, pathetic human brother had done for so long. But the thrill of the chase never lasted long as humans proved to be such weak creatures. It was only a matter of time before they started talking. They all talked. Begged. Pleading for him to spare their wretched, insignificant lives. They made empty promises, attempted bribery with money, information or drugs. None of these interested him of course. Then there were the really desperate fools who would offer him personal pleasure. Fucking whores, the lot of them. He’d laughed in their faces, assuring if he’d wanted that, he’d simply have taken it to begin with. 

Not that he hadn’t lied to a few of them and taken up their offers.  
The looks on their faces when they realized he’d never intended on letting them live after he’d wholly wrecked their bodies from the inside out so completely was truly priceless.  
When he finally made the kill he’d been hooked at first blood. And the more blood he spilled, the higher he got. He found that killing more than one person at a time doubled the pleasure, and the more pain he caused, the more blood he craved.  
Dean Winchester had become a junkie, always itching for a fix, willing to do anything to get it. 

//If only you could see me now Sammy.// he thought darkly, rolling his half-smoked camel cigarette between the pads of his thumb and forefinger, thick eyebrows furrowing as an image of Sam, eyes red from lack of sleep, dark circles underneath them, hair unkempt and neglected, his normally handsome face gaunt, cheek bones painfully prominent, jaw set in a determined line as he hunched over his precious laptop in the booth of some cafe, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee long since gone cold, pouring over useless information and dead-end leads on the whereabouts of his “lost” brother. That had been three weeks ago, Dean had been keeping tabs on the young Hunter until then. After seeing him in that state Dean knew the idiot would run himself into the ground trying to find him, and from the looks of his body and the state of his clothing he was already nearly there. He wasn’t a threat anymore. 

//That’s all that matters. No one to stop me now.// his mind provided an easy justification for the unwelcome, brooding thoughts of his baby brother and he shook off the momentary buzz kill, flicking the remaining cig butt into the street, not bothering to extinguish the cherry as it burned up the rest of the cancer stick releasing chemical filled poison into the air. 

Broad, leather clad shoulders rolled and flexed as he pushed off the post and cracked his neck from side to side, stretching his jean-clad legs and starting eagerly towards the bar he’d come to lay waste to, honing his attention in on the promise of life just waiting to be extinguished. He had been accosted with the sharp burning scent of alcohol muted by the oozing stench of testosterone a mile away. Good. Drunken men, in varying states of agitation or depression never needed a reason to fight. And adrenaline always made them harder to kill, allowed the body to endure more pain. This would be the perfect setting to satisfy his growing, ravenous hunger.


	2. Theme Song's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean murders a lot of people... some not so quickly...

The steel door slid closed behind him and his astute eyes took in the entire layout of the small establishment. The bar counter was directly to his right about twelve feet from the entrance, the distracted, female bartender nodded at him as he entered and turned back to her task of cleaning the contents of a broken bottle. There were seven tables in total, six stools at the bar and two pools tables crammed into the far corner to his left, only one of them being used for actual pool. There was a newer version of a jukebox, which looked like it had definitely seen better days positioned against the wall separating the door labeled “Men” and “Women” past the bar on the right. Well below the posted capacity of 35 he counted at total of 14 people, each under varying levels of intoxication.  
Including the bartender, the body count came to 15.  
This would be a new record.

Flying solo at least. He'd lost count of the death toll he’d racked up with Benny and Cas in Purgatory. The memory brought an uncomfortable, unwanted, emotional feeling to his chest. Striding purposefully to the bar, he snapped his fingers to get the bitches attention, sliding some cash in her direction when she met his eyes.  
“Fireball, double, dry.” His voice was unkind and demanding. To the girl’s credit she served him swiftly and without comment, though he saw the tick of her jaw at being ordered around and her practiced smile didn’t reach her brown eyes.

The shot burned it’s way down his throat with welcome, familiarity and he sighed approvingly, setting the glass down and tapping it on the wooden counter for another immediately, determined to drown the thoughts of his past life. The brunette raised a delicate eyebrow but topped him off twice more before, much to her relief, he’d slid the shot glass towards her and turned away, apparently satisfied.  
Ambling along the bar in the direction of the jukebox he took the time to eavesdrop on the crowd with his heightened sense of sound. The dialogue consisted of typical drunk talk; strangers over sharing under the influence, connecting under a false sense of camaraderie. The ratio of men to women was 70/30, women reveling in the affection that was non-existent in their home lives, willing to take any kind of attention and turn it into attraction. Men arguing over meaningless sports teams, or swapping stories of youthful days long gone, bitching about their jobs, their wives, anything and everything.

Then there were the sounds of the few couples who’d taken to using their mouths for things much more entertaining than talking. His ears picked up the music muted sounds of impatient hands sliding over and under clothes, denim dragging harshly across nylon, canvas and fishnet as hips met, heavy breathing, loudly beating hearts, quiet lust-filled moans and whispered words of encouragement and approval even the click of pool balls being pushed out of the way as a couple moved farther onto the table top, oblivious to the people around them, lost in their own desperation induced pleasure.  
The smell of their arousal caused his skin to prickle with sudden anticipation and he dropped two coins into the music box, flipping briefly through the slides before choosing a song that brought a chuckle to his lips. What a great selection this machine had.

The change from peppy, mainstream pop to the new harsh, rock-metal brought an audible lull in conversation, and a couple people turned their attention towards him, some grumbling about his choice and openly judging him with angry glares. Perfect.

 _The hunger inside given to me, makes me what I am_  
_Always it is calling me, for the blood of man..._  
_They say I cannot be this, I am jaded, hiding from the day_  
_I can't bare, I cannot tame the hunger in me..._

Rather than avoiding their stares he tilted his defined chin boldly, daring them with his eyes, an arrogant smirk lifting one side of his mouth. As he’d predicted, barely a minute passed before he got his first challenge.

 _Oh, I say I did and always searching, you can't fuck with me_  
_So instead you'll taste my pain._

A broad shouldered, beast of a man removed himself from a small group of Russian’s who had stopped playing their game of pool and were now muttering amongst themselves. He walked with his chest out, head perched on his shoulders like a bowling ball on a shelf, burly arms swinging at his sides giving Dean the amusing impression of a gorilla about to show off a territorial display.  
Dean, who’d leaned casually against the glowing glass box had his arms folded loosely across his solid chest, one of his steel-toed, carhartt work boot-clad feet drumming in time to the beat.

 _The hunger inside given to me, makes me feel alive_  
_Always out stalking prey, in the dark I hide_  
_Feeling, falling, hating, feel like I am fading, hating life._

“Hey, asshole.”

  
//Clever.//

  
“We don’t want to hear any of this psycho, ozzy ozborne shit.”

The man had taken up a position much closer than was necessary to get his attention; he stood a half a head taller and scowled down his large nose, breath reeking of cheap gum and even cheaper vodka. The Russian swayed slightly even while standing still though he didn’t notice, intent on intimidating the new arrival. His glassy, dull blue eyes were met evenly by frosty green ones. The intensity of this stranger’s gaze was unnerving and there was something in those eyes that seriously gave him the creeps but he refused to look away, aware of his associates watching. Fuck this leather jacketed, arrogant, flannel-clad ken-doll, he thought, mentally encouraging himself.

“Manson.”  
The look in the instigating man’s eyes became, if possible, even less intelligent, his bushy, black eyebrows coming together to create a V in the middle of his wide, pale forehead.

 _They say I cannot be this, I am jaded, hiding from the day_  
_I can't bare, I cannot tame the hunger in me..._

“What?”  
“Man-son.” The dirty blonde repeated slowly as if he were talking to a particularly handicapped child.  
“I fucking heard you. Manson what?” The Russian’s face had turned color at his mocking tone.  
Dean sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, jerking his head behind him at the JukeBox.

“It’s not Ozzy. It’s fucking Marilyn Manson man.” He explained flatly.

His blasé manner received the desired result as sausage-like fingers gripped his jacket and shirt tightly, and roughly connecting with his chin as he was abruptly, bodily hoisted up onto the machine he’d been leaning against, his feet now completely off the ground.

“Listen bitch,” the man’s accent became noticeable as his anger peaked, “I don’t give a flying fuck who it is. No one wants to hear it. So you’re gonna fucking change it!”

****_Oh, I say I did and always searching, you can't fuck with fate_   
_So instead you'll taste my pain_

  
Dimirti Alexander was used to being the biggest in his circle of friends and comrades and therefore used to throwing his weight around and always being obeyed, he had been expecting the smaller guy to fight back, or give in, talk back, struggle even.

Instead the Winchester leaned his face so close that it was hidden from anyone else, nose almost touching that of his assailant. His voice was low, and lethal as he answered the threat steadily, “I want to hear it. And I promise, the next song is especially for you. It will drown out your pathetic screams.” His eyes bled to black and with a startled, undignified yell of surprise Dimitri dropped him, tripping over a chair as he backed away too quickly for his stout, intoxicated limbs to keep up.

_You say your life I'm taking, always bothering me, I can't take this anymore,  
I'm failing, always smothering me._

Dean dropped to a crouch dramatically holding his neck and tilting his head towards the ground, effectively hiding his face as he pretended to gasp for breath. He blinked back into his human eyes and wiped the satisfaction from his features before getting slowly to his feet. The short, black-haired idiot continued pointing at him, presumably accusing him of something, though he’d reverted to shouting in Russian in his terror.  
Convenient.

 ****_You look down on me, hey what you see, take this gift from me, you will soon be ME_  
_Nothing seems exciting, always the same hiding... hiding..._

The mood in the dimly lit space had changed to one of unease and confusion, all eyes on the loudly blathering drunk as those who weren’t fluent in Russian attempted to understand what the hell was going on. Dmitri’s friends seemed to be arguing with him in varying degrees of disbelief, some of them even beginning to laugh.

 ****_It's haunting me. It's haunting me. It's haunting me. It's haunting me_  
_It's haunting me..._

“You should get your friend home before he hurts himself.” Dean proclaimed loudly, his voice convincingly abrasive.  
“Yah, yah, Dmitri. Let’s go.” A lanky younger man, in a white polo with a crooked nose and a very thick accent waved a bony, weasel-like hand at the group and tried to push the much larger man towards the exit. “I’m not drunk Ully! That fuck isn’t natural!” the words sounded strange even to Dean and he could tell the rest of the crowd took those words as crazy, drunk talk, shaking their heads as they all returned to their respective groups with a quiet hum of chatter and varied looks of discomfort. As the five Russian men all attempted to usher their friend towards the door Dean took the moment to drop four more quarters into the machine, picking the next two songs to play.

  
Marilyn’s “Redeemer” had ended and his next song started. The music was no longer the point of interest for the humans, too busy gossiping, though, if they’d been even semi-perceptive, his playlist would have given them plenty of warning.

The new, haunting, strange sound floating through the hazy air,

 ****_I'm over it_  
_You see I'm falling in the vast abyss_  
_Clouded by memories of the past_  
_At last, I see_

The group had reached the exit and Dean had the satisfaction of seeing his first victim shrug off his friend and barrel towards the door angrily, only to run face first into the steel as the entry remained tightly shut. He swore, manhandling the crash bar* and pounding a fist against the frame. “Hey! Lady!” he bellowed, addressing the bartender who was already walking over with an agitated look on her face.

 ****_I hear it fading_  
_I can't speak it_  
_Or else you will dig my grave_  
_We fear them finding_  
_Always whining_  
_Take my hand now_  
_Be alive._

All attention focused on the commotion at the exit Dean easily moved unnoticed towards the pool tables, taking up residence a few feet away, unnoticed, watching the couple who had been ignoring anything other than each other.  
The voices near the door were becoming more agitated as the bartender tried to understand what had happened to the emergency unlock which seemed to be broken. His eye’s took in the oblivious couple thirstily.

 _You see I cannot be forsaken_  
_Because I'm not the only one_  
_We walk amongst you_  
_Feeding, raping, Must we hide from everyone?_

  
Easily one of the youngest men in the bar this one looked in his early twenties. His hair was dark, made darker by whatever held it greased into place, parted on the side and slicked back on one, one section of his bangs displaced by his activities and falling into his eyes. The flannel he wore was unbuttoned, pushed (or pulled) hastily down his small but lean shoulders, the white cotton tee and fitted, dark blue denim jeans complete with over-the-ankle, worn, brown, leather boots made him look like a damn present day Sodapop Curtis*.  
His partner was barely 21, tall, raven-haired, with less curves than Dean preferred, more of a dancers body. But, obviously talented if the state of her one-night lover were any implication. His thoughts turned vile, eyes almost turning black unbidden and he reigned in his anticipation.  
The bartender had gone back to the bar, attempting to use the phone and finding the line dead. Before they all started using their cell phones he needed to make his move.

 _I'm over it_  
_Why can't we be together_  
_Embrace it_  
_Sleeping so long_  
_Taking off the mask_  
_At last, I see._

  
Taking the advantage of the diverted attention he slid silently up to the handsome couple, their confused, startled looks lasting seconds before he’d knocked them both unconscious, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, close to the neck and using his strength to pinch the appropriate nerves. He let the boy droop over onto the girl so it looked like he’d just leaned over her on the table.

 

 _My fear is fading_  
_I can't speak it_  
_Or else you will dig my grave_  
_We fear them finding_  
_Always whining_  
_Take my hand now_  
_Be alive._  
_You see I cannot be forsaken_  
_Because I'm not the only one_  
_We walk amongst you_  
_Feeding, raping, must we hide from everyone?_

He seated himself at the third table from them towards the middle of the room, just in time as his ‘buddy’ Dimitri decided to take matters into his own hands and start pointing fingers again. His eyes landed on Dean and he raised his voice angrily, “You! What the fuck did you do to the door?!” He had the audience’s attention once more. He gave the drunk a look of contempt, “I opened it genius. Then I walked through.” His taunt made the man forget his fear as anger overcame him and he broke past the startled group of milling patrons, rushing at Dean who one minute sat smiling tauntingly at him and the next had somehow appeared behind him. Dimitri realized too late, thick arms snatching at thin air as he crashed headlong into the vacant chair, both crashing to the floor, his body crumpled in a heap, unmoving.

 ****_You see I cannot be forsaken_  
_Because I'm not the only one._

He stood to the side with one eyebrow raised at the body as he heard exclaimations from the others, Ully and the rest of his pals hurried over to their friend, noticeably giving Dean a wide berth.  
“Fucking drunk-ass.” Ully muttered as he squatted down and took hold of a limp, beefy shoulder, grunting with the effort of moving him,

 _We walk amongst you_  
_Feeding, raping_  
_Must we hide from everyone?_

//No more hiding.//

As Dimitri’s body was turned over a long arc of red liquid sprayed from his suddenly exposed neck, splattering across one of Uly’s eye’s and down the front of him, misting the other two Russian’s who couldn’t seem to comprehend what just happened. The man with the crooked nose swore, flailing back into the two men and bringing them all down onto the floor in a heap of tangled, yelling limbs as he struggled to wipe the blood from his eyes. They didn’t even know what hit them as Dean snapped Ully’s neck like a twig and used the broken chair leg to effectively bludgeon the other two.  
The sound of a woman gagging was followed by the putrid stench of alcohol coming back up and Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust. The room had erupted into chaos, people running for the door, or for cover, and thankfully no one was thinking clearly enough to pull out a phone.

  
Yet.  
The next song began to play and he couldn’t have timed it more perfectly.

 ****_How did it start? Well I don't know_  
_I just feel the craving_  
_I see the flesh and it smells fresh_  
_And it's just there for the taking._

  
A man in his forties decided to play hero, rushing Dean from the side, attempting to tackle him to the ground. Using his momentum against him the soulless man grabbed him by the shoulders and bashed his face into the corner of the nearest table, his cheek and one eye caving in on impact. There was a scream of horror from somewhere ahead of him and he grinned ferally, seeking out the panicked woman and making note to savor that one.

 _These little girls, they make me_  
_Feel so goddamn exhilarated_  
_I fill them up, I can't give it up to me_  
_I'm just erasing._

The next three men attempted working together, only ending in fouling each other up in the closed space, Dean being able move much quicker around obstacles. He gripped the bone handle of his weapon and felt the familiar almost-unbearable jolt of power electrify him as the jawbone cut through flesh and bone alike, blood covering his torso already.

 _I tell my lies, and I despise_  
_Every second I'm with you_  
_So I run away and you still stay_  
_So what the fuck is with you?_

  
The remaining 5 victims were all female, not counting the still unconscious greaser with his girlfriend out cold on the pool table. The woman who’d vomited from the gore was huddled under a table with her eyes shut tightly muttering incoherently. Her scream of terror as he was yanked from her hiding place by her blonde hair was quickly cut short as the blade tore through her vocal cords and he dropped her body to the ground dismissively, her fingers still twitching and a gurgling noise bubbling out of her mouth as she drowned in her own blood.

 _Your feelings, I can't help but rape them_  
_I'm sorry, I don't feel the same_  
_My heart inside is constantly hating_  
_I'm sorry, I just throw you away._

  
He located the bartender next, taking her for the most intelligent of the remaining women. He didn’t want his planned extended party with the pool table couple to be cut short by the arrival of any unwanted local law enforcement. He saw her grab her purse from behind the bar, scramble over the bar itself and run for the bathroom. He hated being right.  
Letting out a loud growl he ran towards the swinging door, leaping over a fallen chairs and bringing his shoulder down in front of him as he bashed into the door of the womens restroom, the bartender having attempted to shut and lock it was knocked backwards with the impact her purse and contents flying out of her hand and scattering across the floor.

 _I don't know why I'm so fucking cold_  
_I don't know why it hurts me_  
_All I wanna do is get with you_  
_And make the pain go away._

  
She landed in a stall, her head cracking against the porcelain of the toilet. The brunette crawled from the stall, holding a hand to her head in a weak attempt to staunch free flowing blood pouring from a gaping wound on the back of her head. Her eyes found her cell phone lying not feet from her and she let out a pitiful sob as her attacker pressed down with his heel, crushing the device into bits. Giving up, she sat back on her sneakered heels, vision blurring as the blood loss began to take it’s toll.  
Dean crouched in front of her and reached for her face, slapping her weak, bloody hand away when she tried to stop him and grabbing a hold of her chin firmly, forcing her look at his face, into his bottomless eyes.

  
_Why do I have a conscience?_  
_All it does is fuck with me_  
_Why do I have this torment?_  
_All I wanna do is fuck it away._

  
“Brave. But stupid.” He stated, head tilted to the side as if he were a scientist studying a particularly fascinating specimen. The tiled floor underneath her knees was quickly accumulating blood; she’d dropped her arms to her lap too weak to continue holding the wound. He ran his fingers along the side of her face and tangled them into her blood matted, half pony-tailed hair, placing his large, strong hand on the back of her skull, effectively stopping the flow.

 _I tell my lies, and I despise_  
_Every second I'm with you_  
_So I run away and you still stay_  
_So what the fuck is with you?_

  
“HEY.” His voice commanded her attention as her eyelids began to close and they snapped open, chocolate brown eyes dilating as she fought to focus on him.  
“Why?” she rasped, her naturally ruby lips parted in pain.  
He hated that question, and instead of answering crushed his lips into hers with bruising force, pinning the hand that feebly reached to stop him behind her back and holding her to him by the hand in her hair, the one holding her wound shut. In order to pull away she had to press against his hand and she only attempted to do so once, the sharp burst of pain splitting through her head and causing her to cry out into his mouth, his lips and tongue eagerly, drinking down her protests.

 _And your feelings, I can't help but rape them_  
_And I'm sorry, I don't feel the same_  
_My heart inside is constantly hating_  
_I'm sorry, I just throw you away._

 _I tell my lies, and I despise_  
_Every second I'm with you_  
_So I run away and you still stay_  
_So what the fuck is with you?_

 _Your feelings, I can't help but rape them_  
_I'm sorry, I don't feel the same_  
_My heart inside is constantly hating_  
_I'm sorry, I just throw you away_

 _Just throw you away_  
_Just throw you away_  
_Just throw you away_  
_Just throw you away._


	3. Dog Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloody and sick.
> 
>  
> 
> Song by Nicole Dollanganger "Dog Teeth"

The lifeless body of the once beautiful young woman who’d first caught Dean’s eye as he entered the bar was sprawled on the bathroom floor in a growing pool of her own blood.  
One leg was bent underneath her at an unnatural angle, her foot pinned under her hip, her clothes were in shreds, some still clinging to her body, most in pieces on the floor around her, her arms were crossed at the wrist above her head, the radius bones protruding from the split once tan skin, now blackened with bruises that would never heal her glossy chocolate eyes stared blindly at the shattered mirror above the sink, blood smeared across the broken surface.

His lust had changed the game a bit. That cute little minx had brains and it made him hot. He’d taken his pleasure with her, holding nothing back, all but flaying the skin from her body.  
She’d died screaming and it brought him sweet release. His sexual appetite was pleasantly satisfied. He zipped and buttoned his jeans, wiping sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand.

The smell of blood filled his nostrils as he took a deep breath and adjusted his shoulders, cracking his neck and as he entered the main bar once more, splintered wood and broken hinges the only remains of the door. His ears were assaulted with the high-pitched whines of women and a lower panicked tone of a man.  
The remaining two women had grouped up with his first chosen play things, the couple that was now awake and trying their best to break the door open.  
He’d been meaning to have his way with them, but the girl had sated his desire so well, now, he only wanted blood.  
They fell with ease, the blade of bone and teeth rendering them to so much meat. Such fragile creatures humans are.  
He slashed them and ran them through and sat on their bodies as he carved away at their flesh.  
He free'd the blood from their bodies, bathing in the of thick red velvet stream of life.

The Blade Thirsted, the Mark Hungered, The Demon Craved.

And they were all of them Appeased.

 

 

********

[In Another part of the Country]

********

Castiel sat across from Sam Winchester, head buried in that laptop of his. The young man’s face was covered with a thick layer of auburn fuzz and his hair was long, and lack-luster, unkempt. He looked more like a homeless man than a Hunter and his obsession with finding his brother had been driving him slowly but surely insane. This kind of sickness was one not even an Angel could heal, and it worried Castiel. The café was pretty empty, one of a very few that stayed open all night. The Angel had been deep in his own thought’s when he started listening to the music, the voice of a pretty sounding girl, a bit high-pitched for his liking, but it was the lyrics that got his attention and he sat still as a statue as the words filled him with a cold, painful feeling.

_He handed me a pair of pliers_   
_and he told me to pull out his teeth,_   
_because as long as he had them he'd_   
_use them to do bad things._

_You're cold on the inside,_   
_there's a dog in your heart_   
_and it tells you to tear everything apart._

_My body's covered in teeth marks._   
_Your bite's worse than your bark._   
_You ruin everything you touch and_   
_destroy anyone you love._   
_You're all over me._

_He'd sunk his teeth in to the flesh of many others,_   
_infecting them with whatever was_   
_already inside him._   
_He'd broken all their hymens,_   
_cut them open and played inside them._

_He'd hollowed out their bodies so_   
_they'd feel just empty as him._   
_You're cold on the inside,_   
_there's a dog in your heart_   
_and it tells you to tear_   
_everything apart._

_You draw blood just to taste it._   
_You hold bones just to break them._   
_You ruin everything you touch and_   
_destroy anyone you love._

_You're all over me._

 

Sam looked up from his searching to see Castiel suddenly go rigid, all color in his skin had drained, his hands clenched tightly on his knees.  
Castiel’s mind was filled with images and his senses flooded with sounds and smells.

People screaming, in fear, in pain, in desperation.

Flesh, ripped apart, pieces all over the floor, bodies everywhere.

Blood, so much blood, covering every surface, painted on the walls and dripping from the ceiling.

A face.

Eyes black as pitch, smiling mouth pouring blood, clothes drenched in crimson.

Dean Winchester had killed again.

This time it was a massacre.


	4. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the song that Dean is pretty much thinking in his head about Cas. 
> 
> https://youtu.be/bR5u9jb0PJE?list=PLazzTOezW68o9tDpcPwnZ9F58JbfOeB-q

Dean stood and let out a loud bark of laughter, it echoed in his empty blood covered palace.   
He could feel Castiel in his mind, he knew the Angel had seen everything and it turned him on.   
Deftly he unlocked the door with the key he’d stolen days before and walked out into the beautiful black night.   
He paused to take a deep breath of the crisp summer air, the blood and bits of flesh on him cooled and stuck to his skin.   
Black eyed he looked up at the full moon and let his human eye’s come back.   
The green glittered even more dangerously in the twilight.   
He started walking, hands clasped in front of him in a mock gesture of prayer.   
“Oh Castiel that art not in Heaven,” he began, voice rough, ragged and dripping with sarcasm.   
“I, Dean Winchester do ask your help in my time of need.” 

He licked his lips, “See, I have this desire. I’m hungry.”

“So hungry,” His heart beat faster, 

“And I'm hoping you’ll feed me.” 

Dean knew Castiel was listening, as he walked, his hips swaying hands now at his sides, he whispered,   
“Angel, I don’t just want to taste you. I’m gonna skin you with my tongue.”  
His hand found it’s way to his now painfully hard erection, pushing against his blood soaked jeans.  
“I don’t know, maybe you can’t handle this.” He growled in challenge.

Sam was left looking at empty space and he cursed the Angel. Cursed God. Cursed everyone for not telling him where his brother was.

Castiel appeared in front of Dean and grabbed his wrists, “Dean.”

“Don’t talk.” Dean commanded, freeing his hands and grabbing the back of Castiel’s head, pulling him down to the ground by his hair.   
They landed in the dirt roughly, Dean pinned the other man down by his shoulders and looked down at him hungrily, eye’s glinting madly.   
“Dean, you killed-“   
“I said don’t talk.” He repeated, backhanding Castiel across the face with such force his lip slip on impact, blood flowing freely down his chin.   
Castiel stilled, watching this man turned monster carefully.   
As if to apologize the Winchester leaned down and kissed him fully, sucking the blood from his mouth eagerly.   
It was wrong, but he also wanted it.   
Castiel kissed back, his hand’s reaching up to run through Dean’s hair, but it was crusted and Cas pulled away in sudden realization.   
He looked at his hands now covered in blood from Dean’s body. He was about to speak again when he remembered his punishment.   
Dean watched the Angel’s face, watched him weigh his options patiently.   
Blue eye’s gazed up at the green jewels above him and Castiel let his hands drop to either side of his head.   
“How do you want me?” he asked, earning a nasty grin from Dean that made his pulse quicken. 

“Oh boy, I’ll have you every way and then some.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short! I know, I'll write more, I just had to write this as a little sneak peek before I head off to work. I couldn't wait :]


	5. I know I'm a Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Reflect's on the night's happenings.   
> Graphic PICTURES included.  
> NSFW!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!  
> Don't worry, there's much more awful smut to come.
> 
> <3  
> ~Emery
> 
> Song:  
> I Know I'm a Wolf - by Thrice

Thoughtful, troubled eyes stared up at the off-white ceiling, paint chipping away, cracked and ugly.

//Just like your heart.//

Dried up and faded. 

The red neon numbers on the cheap motel radio clock to the right of his head read 3:30am. 

Witching hour. 

Fitting.

He had woken up from his sexed out sleep 30 minutes prior. 

Now his mind wouldn’t turn off, his gut felt like a rat had been chewing its way into his stomach and it just kept gnawing, clawing, and eating away at him like some sick, twisted version of a conscience.

Castiel’s harsh breathing never changed. 

He must be exhausted, after what Dean had put him through in the abandoned parking lot, and then in the sleazy motel room they now rested in, it wasn’t that much of a surprise. 

Long red fingernail marks crisscrossed the Angel’s bare back, teeth marks, some crusted with dried blood lined his neck, and his wrists were purple and still bleeding through the white gauze he’d used to wrap them after Dean freed him from the confines of the rope he’d used, binding him just to clarify he was in charge, he dominated the moment, he controlled everything.

As if Castiel would have tried to fight any more.

The dark haired man’s once perfectly smooth, creamy skin was covered with wounds of passion.

At least Dean knew that’s what Castiel would tell himself to ease the pain of the real truth. 

That he’d been used. 

A plaything for something much darker than he’d known existed in the eldest Winchester.

~*~*~*

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/destiny.jpg)

“Do your worst.”

The brave words left the Angel’s mouth before he could stop himself and he found his head digging painfully into the rocky earth below him, eyes seeing sparks of light as Dean’s mouth collided into his, their teeth painfully coming together as his head hit the ground.

The man who’d once been his best friend positioned himself with one knee on either side of Castiel’s hips, leaning over him and pinning the smaller man to the hard, cold earth with his own feverishly hot body, strong hands roaming underneath his white button up and across the expanse of his stomach, up to his chest, blood encrusted fingers digging painfully into the surprisingly muscular flesh.

Without hesitation he pressed back against Dean’s mouth, ignoring the pain as the marked man’s teeth bit into his lips, scraped against his tongue and tried to dominate him completely. 

He wouldn’t give in that easily. 

He wouldn’t let Dean win without making damn sure he knew this was something he’d wanted. 

Not like this.  But if it was all he ever had… he wanted to feel it, even for a second.

Their hips met with brutal force, the friction making them both moan.  

Castiel’s hands gripped Dean’s ass tightly, grinding up into him, begging silently for more.

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/tumblr_n8ev1yexhi1tqww10o7_500.gif)

Dean grinned against that pretty, soft mouth warring against him and pulled back just long enough to bring his forehead down with a sharp crack, head butting his prey, the white, sweat slicked skin of Castiel’s forehead splitting open upon impact, his shoulders hitting the ground, head spinning.

He lay there stunned, eyes open but blind for more than a minute as his body struggled to deal with the concussion,

Dean’s own blood dripped down the side of his leering face obscenely, splattering the front of Castiel’s already bloody trench coat.

“My way.” Dean snarled, eyes black as pitch, chuckling darkly as those blue, blue eyes below him managed to focus on his face.  

Giving him no time to recover, his inhumanly strong hands tore apart that awful dress shirt, buttons pelting the ground around them like plastic hail.

“Take us somewhere private.”

The cursed man demanded, and with the blink of an eye they were in a dirty, cheap motel room, one bed, one window, a shower – presumably.

Dean didn’t care at the moment.

He pinned the bleeding Angel against the dull blue wall nearest them so forcefully it knocked the wind out of both of them.  

“Sure you can handle this?” he taunted, voice rough, breath hot on his face.

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/hunger3.gif)

In answer Castiel shoved Dean across the room with impressive strength tearing his shirt and jacket apart in the  process, leaving his hard, tan, torso bare, still covered in the blood of his victims.  

He stuck out his chin defiantly and was rewarded with a delicious grin.

“I liked that jacket.” Dean snarled wickedly, ridding himself of his jeans and fully exposing himself to Heaven’s Vessel for the first time.  

Watching Castiel take in the sight of him only stroked his ego, and fueled his desire.  

Gripping his painfully hard member in one hand he held out the other and cocked an eyebrow,

“Still sure, little Angel?”

Dropping to his knees Castiel crawled across the floor like an animal, submissive to his master.  

Eager to please.  

His soft, unsure hands slid up Dean’s legs, over his knee’s, gripping his firm thighs tightly and just as he was about to take him in his own hand Dean grabbed the top of his head, grasping his dark hair tightly, painfully, forcing his to look up into those black, soulless eyes,

 

“Taste me.” He commanded.

 

 

And the Angel then did sin.

 

 

~*~*~*

Sick of hearing his own thoughts Dean clicked on the radio, turning the volume on low and letting the music fill the silence.

Piano music? He glanced at the station to make sure it was on the right one before the lead vocalist began singing and the song changed from what he’d thought to be Classical to Doom Pop/Rock.  If he didn’t know better, the radio was being DJ’ed by some sick fuck Angel or Demon who was trying to get him to feel, playing a damn soundtrack to his thoughts and actions.

 _Dear rabbit, my legs are getting weak… chasing you_ __  
And the snowfields… Wouldn’t seem so big, if you knew  
That this blood on my teeth, it is far beyond dry…  
And I’ve captured you once, but it wasn’t quite right..

Those now human, jade green eyes glanced over at the man, no, the Celestial being next to him, silently thankful he wasn’t awake to hear the words.

A song from the Wolf lying next to him.

_Oh rabbit, my claws are down now so don’t be afraid…_ _  
I can keep you warm, as long as you can just try…_

_Try to be brave._

But Castiel… he was brave.

Hot liquid leaked from Dean’s eyes and he let the tears fall, too proud to admit their existence as he stared at the handsome, broken Angel in his bed. 

Those perfect pink lips, girlish, and beautiful, the lines of his forehead, the permanent crease between his brows from that adorable frown of confusion, the dark shadow of stubble that he never seemed to be rid of.

If possible Castiel had aged since first meeting the Winchesters. 

The black-haired man looked years older, more wise, yet… even more sad. 

The creases under his eyes, which were lined with dark, long, full lashes and those lining his mouth, were deeper. 

He’d gone through so much. 

They all had.

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/watch.jpg)

But it was different for Sam and Castiel. 

While Dean had been fighting to Save the World, to Hunt the Demons and Monsters and continue his father’s legacy…

Sam had been fighting to save Dean, to live up to his older brother.

Castiel… once an Angel of the Lord, had Fallen, lost his wings, had them broken and his feathers torn out time and time again. 

He’d given up everything he’d ever known to save Dean, a mere human and for years follow him blindly. 

To save him again and again. 

He saved Sam, his baby brother for him. 

All of it, everything, had been for Dean.

Now Dean was just another Monster, he’d become the thing he’d hunted his whole life.

Yet still, here was that Fallen Angel.

Giving him everything.

 _Yes I know I’m a wolf, and I’ve been known to bite,_  
But the rest of my pack… I’ve left them behind.  
And my teeth may be sharp, and I’ve been raised to kill…  
But the thought of fresh meat… It’s making me ill.

_So I’m telling you… That you’ll be safe with…_

_So rabbit, please stop looking the other way…  
It’s cold out there… _

_So why not stay here, under the shelter of my tail._

 

Before he knew what he was doing, a weather-worn thumb was tracing Castiel’s lips and Dean let out a sigh,

“Oh, my Dear Rabbit.”


	6. Forgive Me Father for I have Sinned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so I survived g.i.s.h.w.e.h.e.s! Apologies for keeping you all waiting!  
> This chapter ended up being way crazier and more in depth than I'd intended, but I got a writers tick that told me to embellish on Cas's memories and so TA-DA there's that whole thing - which really was hard because I did a lot of research into genesis and stuff... anyways, I know you've all been waiting, so I hope this quenches your thirst for a bit, more angst filled smutty, gory memories to come don't worry.  
> ~Em

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Used Art in my photo collage promo by smallworld-inc @ DeviantArt

 

 

The sun was just beginning to peak above the distant mountains when Dean Winchester, the human side of Dean Winchester, finally lost the battle with his mind and let his body slip into the subterranean darkness of unconsciousness once more, his dreamscape taking over the dynamic part of his brain.  His breathing evened out, slowing down and alerting the obsidian haired man occupying the bed next to him that was now safe to shed the façade of sleep himself and finally open his troubled, frostbite blue eyes.  Shadows lined every crease on his face, making him look even older and more tired than usual; blackening purple bruises blossomed along his distinct jaw line and over one high cheekbone, covering the thin, swollen skin under his left eye, stopping just below one thick black eyebrow.  His feminine, pale-pink lips were chapped, and he absently chewed on the split, sensitive skin of his full lower lip, breaking open the substantial ½” scab that had formed over the wound he’d received from one of the many blows he’d received earlier. 

The radio remained on, and he didn’t risk waking Dean by moving to turn it off.  Also in his present condition he wasn’t sure he could manage it any way.  The commercial break finally came to it’s three-minute-long end and a deep, tom-boy female voice welcomed the listeners to the beginning of another “rockin’ hour of music”.  Her voice brought to mind the image of a late twenty-something, punk-goth,  with multi-colored, spiked pig-tails and the steel click that punctuated her words suggested she had more than just her tongue pierced.

“It’s time to turn up the heat and start your morning of with some beats to get your heart pumpin’ and steel those nerves to face the day and give you the courage to say ‘fuck you world! I’m ready for this sh*t!” she laughed throatily and parted with

“This is Fight Club Hour on The End, brought to you by yours truly.  This is Kitty Chaos signing off!  Party on Mother F*ckers!”

another song began to play. 

The harsh screech of electric guitar made the Angel’s throbbing headache even worse and he winced. 

_You seduced me lonely in your hell_  
_Naked, hungry I crawl into your cell_

_A virtual drugstore is piled on your bed_  
_I can't resist with your tongue inside my head_

_How can everything be justified by you?_  
_How can everything be justified by you?_

_You get off on watching me bleed_  
_You get off on feeding my disease_

_But this time will be perfect you explain_  
_Your tongue is deadly as a needle through my vein_

_How can everything be justified by you?_  
_How can my demise be justified by you?_

_I'm so tired of living for your touch_  
_I'm so tired of needing you so much_

_How can everything be justified by you?_  
_How can everything be justified by you?_

_When did I decide to be crucified by you?_  
_How can everything be justified by you?_  
_By you?_

 

// _Irony.  That’s what humans call it._ //  He thought.  Careful not to wake the sleeping Wolf wearing the body of a man next to him, Castiel silently pushed himself into a half sitting position further up on the pillows, wincing at the amount of effort it took and fighting back tears as his body screamed for him to cease movement.  “So fragile these human forms.” His brother, Lucifer once lectured him.  At the time he had argued that fact.  Now he knew it was true.  Had he been using his Grace, his wounds would have healed immediately, if he’d even been harmed at all.

But their hearts… these human hearts withstood so much. 

// _I am the only one to blame for this.  I wanted to feel his fingers cutting into my body, his tongue ravaging my skin.  I’ve dreamed of tasting him and I begged for his heat as he filled me completely and took me till my throat was raw from screaming his name._ //

His mind sought solace in the memories of the very distant past as he thought to clear it like the void that encompassed all. Before the very beginning of Time itself.  This vision however only fueled to bring to light memories he’d long since tried to bury.  His memory was exceptional and the story of the dawn of humanity was carved deep into his very psyche.

In the beginning there was the Void. 

The void held no light and sheltered no darkness.

 No life and no death. 

It simply was. 

Within the Void there were The Deos.  The very first immortal deities.  They neither spoke to one another, nor acted against or with each other, they simply existed. 

There was one Deos who called himself the Creator.  He had existed for eons of non-existent time.  In this time he became restless.  And he became Lonely.  He believed there was more that could be than this Void of non-existence.

 Without consulting nor asking nor simply telling the other Deos the Creator – with his Great and Awesome Power – designed and crafted his own Planes of Existence to rule over.  His Plane of Dwelling overlooked the others, a stunning and breathtaking domain he reigned over naming it “Heaven”.  Within the other Planes he created Time, Space, Air, Planets, Stars and Solar Systems.  Each unique and different from the other in subtle yet extraordinary ways.   

Though these Astral Planes were beautiful and marvelous to behold, still The Creator longed for more satisfaction.  He summoned himself a mighty Heavenly Host to Praise his name and Worship him with the blind trust and awestruck innocence of a loving Child.  And so the Angels were Born of his Hands.   

One of the last Angels God created was also one of his most beloved.  Bestowed with the name Castiel, meaning “The Shield of God.”, this Angel was designed with eyes of Blue, the rarest color ever invented.  However, to say these eyes were merely blue would be a dire misinterpretation and do their beauty a severe injustice. 

Castiel’s eyes were the very inspiration in the forging of one of the most precious stones on Earth, Lapis Luzili. God mirrored his eyes after the shimmering depths of the Ocean, scattered them with pieces of the very first Stars and flecks of the purest Topaz, swirled with Azure and set to the backdrop of frost-kissed glaciers.  Not one being in all of Heaven could look into those eyes without being touched by the purity of their sorrowful flawlessness.  His heavenly form was composed with a body delicate yet strong, possessing grace and the power worthy of God’s shield, molded with elegant wings which were decorated in silk-soft feathers darker than the blackest Tahitian pearls. Castiel was crafted with the most perfect imperfections and his Grace glowed bright as the moon at her fullest. 

As time passed, Castiel grew in knowledge and aged in Grace, and oh how he so did love his Father.  For so long, he followed every given command without question.  With unfailing loyalty and immeasurable dedication.  He longed to be shown the kind of love his older brothers, Gabriel, Michael and the Arch Angels were given.  Castiel looked up to his brothers with childlike awe and vowed to show his Father he could be just as worthy of Praise. 

It had always been in Castiel’s nature to fight back.  He matured into a curious and thoughtful creation and had sought to inquire and question every order he and his brethren received.  Not out of disrespect but out of love.  He was one of only two of the Creator’s first children to show that Angels could rebel and think for themselves. 

Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Raguel, Remiel and Saraqael were the first Angel’s in God’s Army.  As such these 7 Angels were given the special title of Archangels and given a place of hierarchy amonst the rest of his heavenly children.  Though he had many children in his heavenly host The Creator made one angel more beautiful and more radiant than any before him. With eyes as bright as the galaxy and hair of golden rays of sunshine, Lucifer was the first being to question the Creator, to conceive doubt and pose the ultimate inquiry of WHY.  The most perfect of all the Angels refused to blindly follow orders and prove he had developed a mind of his own. 

Lucifer saw himself for the magnificent creature he was and was overcome by vanity.  His own radiance clouded his perception of what truly mattered.  Upon the creation of humanity, all God’s heavenly children blindly worshipped Man just as their father asked of them.  However, Lucifer saw Men as wingless, unintelligent animals, foreseeing and focusing on the imperfect, violent, vulnerable, destructive and selfish creatures they could and would ultimately become. 

Disgusted by the love his father showed these first humans Lucifer could no longer contain his hate and made his move against heaven along with those Angel’s who were also blinded by their brother’s beauty, deceived by his charm and mislead by his sagacity.  His typhlotic brothers and sisters amassed a blasphemous holy army in his name, following him into a desperate and hopeless battle against their Father, the Creator. 

God swiftly punished Lucifer for his disobedience and cast his son and those of his children who had followed him into the Underworld, never again to know the Love and Devotion of their Father or bask in the Everlasting Glory and Peace of Heaven.  Lucifer devoted his life to the destruction and desolation of Humanity and vowed to see his Father ripped from his Throne. 

Bitterness, Jealousy, Pride and Anger twisted the fallen Angel into the Master of Hell, the one who would be known to Man as the Devil.  His first act against his father’s wingless, flawed creations was one that would shape the very existence of the world. 

Taking the form of a sleek bodied, glimmering, green Serpent, Lucifer tempted the first humans with the Gift of Knowledge. 

“Tassssste thhhhe Fffforbidden Fffffruit offff thhhe Trhhhee of Ghhuuud and Ehhhvillll.”

The snake had hissed, his scales caressing Eve as he coiled around her naked body and gazed with glassy, depth-less eyes at her approaching mate.  They had resisted at first, like good little Soldiers of the Lord.  But the temptation of the Serpent, voice sensual and inviting in their ears persisted,

“Jjjjhhhusssst thhhayykkke ohhhne, little bbhhhite.” He hissed,

“Ssssurely ssshhuuucchh a **_loving Father_** whhhooould not punisssssh yhhuuu ffffor mmeehhhrrrr _**curiossssity?**_ ” 

Lucifer, with his scaled gaping maw had smiled, ivory fangs glistening with the poison of lies as he won them over with practiced ease, slithering down a slender arm, beckoning her mate closer with his eyes and curling around the back of Adam’s neck, tenderly pulling the pair closer to one another.  Their bodies met and fit together, fully bared skin touching in a way that would soon stoke the fires of their new found desire and bring upon the carnal actions leading to their first offspring. 

Unashamed and unaware of any of these things, Adam and Eve fell under the spell of the shape-changed Fallen Angel, his scales caressing them fondly and sealing their fate with his next words as he ensured their demise baiting them and cursing the God who had betrayed him.  The father who had cast him aside.  HIM the embodiment of perfection!  All for these _simple minded, broken, ugly creatures._

“I mmhhusst thhel yhhhuu wittthhhh sssadnhhess, bhhut yyhhhuuu hhhafff bhhotthhh off yyyhhhhuuu bhheeen disssseeevhhhed fffrrrhuum thhhe ssssthhart.”

The serpent managed to look ashamed as he answered their questioning gazes. 

“God hhass fffilled your hhheaddsss whhittthh liiiessss.  Ttthhhisss tttreee behhhrsss the mossst sssucclennttt fffruiit iin thhhe Ghharden.  Hhhheee hhaassss keehhhpt ihhhht ffffor hhhhhiiisssssellffff aahhhnd ghhhaarrded itttsssss ssssecretssss.  Fffhhooorrr hhhe iiisss a jhhhelluuusss God.

I promissss, witttthhhh ttthhhe fffirrrrssst drrhhhop offf juuusssse ttthhhat ffffillsss yyhhhooorrr moutthhh, hhit whhill unvhhelil yyhhhorr hhiiiiysss and lifffft thhheh blindnessssss offf Innosssenssse yhhhuu hhhhave behhnn cursssssed witthhh sssssince yhhooour vhhery fffirssst breattthhh.” 

The first Man and Woman to walk the Earth felt the tempting tentacles of the unknown grasp their beating hearts, doubt creeping into the forefront of their minds as their naive eyes had met blossoming with the first seeds of disobedience. 

And so the very first Sin was committed.  

With self-proclaimed agony God was forced to bestow Man with the Gift of Knowledge. 

Centuries passed. 

Heaven remained under the control of The Creator. 

All of the Heavenly Host worshiped God, their Father. 

Humanities Sinful taste of the Forbidden Fruit brought upon the gift of knowledge which in turn brought on chaos and eternal pain.  The Angels watched as Humanity evolved, built relationships, advanced in their intelligence, fought one another, destroyed each other, brought on the wrath of God, created and explored the existence of new Gods, slaughtered the beasts of the earth who looked to them for protection and companionship. 

Every year Man grew in arrogance and only continued to rule over one another, eating the flesh of any creature unable to defend itself, including their fellow species.  The world was destroyed and built anew time and time again and no matter the purity of the humans who were chosen to populate the Earth once more.  Though in the end, they always reverted to violence, feeding the seven cardinal, caustic emotions God had once warned them to be Sin’s - gluttony, envy, lust, greed, sloth, wrath and pride.

Ultimately however, Castiel began to question the actions of his brethren.  To question the judgment of Heaven.  The orders of The Creator, his beloved Father.  His questions led to his banishment.  On earth he first felt the raw ache of human emotions, but he also found the meaning of joy, heard the sound of his own laughter and was given the best gift he could ever ask for in the friendship of Sam and Dean Winchester. 

 

Oh how many lives he had lived since his fall to Earth.  How many deaths he had died since his heart had been stolen by the man with the Emerald Green eyes, the crooked yet-perfect smile and the faint dash of freckles that crossed over the bridge of his nose and peppered his defined, tan cheek bones. 

Under Dean’s dictation Castiel had remained human and vulnerable.  He endured every blow, bled every drop of blood, and permitted the bruises to form.  He felt the sharp immediate sting and lasting ache of every wound.  He cried out when he could no longer silence himself.  It had brought the demon possessed man who bore the Mark of Cain much, much gratification.  Pleasure rising as he slowly broke the wayward son of God.  He'd had so much fun.  The wounds covering Castiels body a harsh visual reminder of the “fun” Dean had had.

“Taste me.” Dean’s voice dripped with lust, his eyes focused intently on the blood steadily pouring from the open wound on the forehead of the man before him.  Instead of obeying the black eyed shell of the Winchester he loved Castiel backed up, getting to his feet just out of reach.  Slowly Castiel’s shaky hands fumbled with the clasp and zipper of his own pants, stripping himself of his slacks and boxers as well as shedding his shoes and socks, eyes finally coming back to meet Dean’s impatient and disapproving jade gaze.  “I didn’t say strip.” The blonde said dangerously, taking a forceful step forward, hand raised as if to reprimand him.  This time however, Castiel had counted on the man’s short fuse and with uncharacteristic boldness he smiled, “I’ve learned not to take orders without question.” And then he was gone.

Before Dean could react with heated outrage his ears picked up the faint flutter of feathers from the motel room bathroom and the unmistakable hum of water spraying over porcelain as the shower was turned on. 

Entering the already foggy room the demonic Winchester wasted no time peeling his own filthy, ripped and bloody clothing from his body.  Castiel ignored the others presence, leaning his head back, face lifted towards the shower head, hands running through his own thick raven hair and sighing at the painful feel of the too-hot water washing the blood from his face, welcoming the pain as it also cleansed him of the blood of those poor souls Dean had massacred. 

Dean entered the tub behind the Angel, his lust filled eyes roaming that exquisite body greedily, anger at the disobedience momentarily subdued as his body’s need returned in full force.  Unable to restrain himself a second longer he pressed himself flush against Cas’s drenched, warm back.  The muscles under the flawless skin and the defined bones in those shoulders made Dean’s pulse quicken one strong hand gripping the man’s soft, wet hair and yanking his head back roughly, the other curling around that pale, perfect neck and restricting his breathing.  He could feel Castiel’s heart beating rapidly and the Angel’s body stiffened, suddenly all too aware of the hard flesh of Dean’s excitement pressed tightly into the crease of his ass, the unfamiliarity making him nervous.

Castiel’s body became unnervingly hot and he shuddered at the unexpected rush of blood to his core, causing his own arousal to become uncomfortably full, hanging heavily between his legs.  He tried to breathe around Dean’s tightening grip, letting out a gasp at the vice-like hold on his hair as his head was pulled painfully to the side.  He felt hot breath on his ear as Dean whispered darkly, “You will obey me Cas.” A wet, hot tongue traced the entirety of his earlobe and his body convulsed again with pleasure, “You know how I know?”

Unable to shake his head or speak the Angel simply waited and he barely contained a moan at the Hunter’s next words.  “I don’t need your mind-reading powers to know just how much you’ve wanted this, waited to hear my commands, to submit yourself to me, body, mind and soul and oh, Cas…” he chuckled, chest vibrating into the man’s back.  Dean released his neck and trailed the now free hand in an agonizingly slow track down his bare chest, along the line of his sternum, fingers teasing a path along the thin trail of dark hair from the bottom of his navel almost to where he desperately wanted those fingers to be… then curving back up to the beginning of his hip bones and ceasing movement with his tan, calloused hand resting on a slender, trembling hip, thumb caressing circles into the sensitive skin above one firm cheek before he continued, “I must admit, I’ve imagined being the one to make you Sin.  I’m going to bring you to my hell, Little Angel.  To show you just how much your body really craves being broken, abused and ravaged by me alone.  I’ve taken pleasure in the thoughts of breaking you, skinning you with my tongue.  I’m going to make you feel me in your bones and beg me for more.”  His voice had dropped to just below a whisper and he was rewarded with the porn-worthy moan that fought its way past that pair of lush lips he planned on abusing quite thoroughly.   

The hand in Castiel’s soaked hair tightened to the point of ripping out a few strands before Dean removed it and without warning wrapped his thick fingers around the base of the Angel’s painfully hardened shaft and starting to stroke the oversensitive flesh roughly. 

“Uhhhnngg  Deaannn.  Oh God…” the words came tumbling out before Castiel could stop himself and his knees buckled at the onslaught of pleasure mixed with pain. 

The friction stopped and he found himself pressed once more into a wall, the hand just seconds before giving him pleasure, again cutting off his air, bruising his already abused throat as he stared into the eyes of the Devil he knew as Dean Winchester.  “The only God here is me Castiel.” Dean snarled, punctuating the sentence by slamming the back of his head into the sea foam colored tiles with such force they cracked, along with his skull, his vision erupting with white light as his body went limp. 

Castiel caught himself before passing out completely and landed with a bone jolting crack on his knees, water pouring over him and stinging his new wound, blood trickling down his neck and creating a red river on it’s way to the drain. 

He felt his hair being gripped tightly as Dean’s fingers caressed the top of his head and then buried themselves in his thick locks again, forcing his head back to look up at him.  “Beg my forgiveness for your blasphemy, oh Angel.” The blonde commanded, grinning at his own words.  “Tell me I am your God.”  He knew it was a command the bloody, naked, gorgeous being kneeling before him could not fulfill.  And oh was he anxious to make him. 

“Dean… I can’t-“ the second the words left his mouth he felt the warm, hardness of Dean’s length pressed into his cheek as the Winchester stroked himself along the length of his victims jawline and then held himself at the entrance of Cas’s parted lips.  “Say it Castiel.” He ordered again, watching the man swallow nervously, eyes wide “Or I will make you wish you could speak.” At the miniscule attempt to pull back Dean’s grin widened, “I was hoping you’d refuse, after all, words can only provide so much pleasure…”

Dean traced the Angel’s lips with his dripping tip before yanking the man’s head even farther back and causing him to gasp in pain, effectively opening that delicious mouth and giving him complete access.  He slipped himself into that perfect warmth as far as he could, feeling his cock hit the back of Castiel’s throat and pulling back before he could gag before thrusting back in, surprised at the Angel’s ability to withstand the actions without choking. 

Castiel affectionately grasped Dean’s thigh’s working his mouth along the hunters shaft with self taught skill.  He was rewarded with the feel of Dean’s fingers combing through his hair softly this time, still painful due to the laceration on the back of his skull but good because he could tell Dean was being gentle, running his fingers through the ink black mess tenderly as his hips jerked without pause.

Tears streamed down his face as the Angel gazed out the window with glassy eyes, listening to the breathing of the man he loved.  The thing that man had become lying in his arms.  And the radio played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Parseltounge :p
> 
> “Taste the Forbidden Fruit of the Tree of Good and Evil.”  
> “Just take one, little bite. Surely such a loving father would not punish you for mere curiosity.”  
> "I must tell you with sadness, but you have been both of you deceived from the start.”  
> “God has filled your heads with lies. This tree bears the most succulent fruit in the Garden. He has kept it for himself and guarded its secrets. For he is a jealous God.”  
> “I promise with the very first drop of juice that fills your mouth, it will unveil your eyes and lift the blindness of innocence you have been cursed with since your very first breath.”


	7. The Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a little fun in Castiel's absence, only to realize nothing can quench his thirst quite like his darling Angel of the Lord.

 

 

Dean woke to the sound of knuckles tapping against wood. 

The knocking was followed by a middle-aged woman’s voice, it was tired and sounded hoarse as if she’d been smoking her entire life, “Room Service.” the words were followed by another three short taps on the door and he looked around the room with a slight grin. 

The wall opposite the bed was cracked and broken in multiple places, the drywall crumbling on the ground in white pasty patches along the ugly maroon carpet, the headboard of the bed was broken and had a bloody, ripped dress shirt tied around one of the posts, the sheets were stained with blood and other substances. 

Then there was the bathroom which was covered in red, splattering over the cracked tiles, the shower rod hanging precariously as it had been ripped down the night before. 

Castiel had apparently gone to mend his wounds and Dean was left with the responsibility of dealing with the room. 

The devilishly handsome man found a sly wolfish smile creeping over his still blood stained face.  Of course there’s always a little time for some well earned play and a nice _fresh_ , warm drink before he finally cleaned himself up.  If the two happened to go hand in hand… well, he’d just have to make sure to thank Castiel for serving them both up to him.  The Winchester left his mind and his thoughts wide open for anyone who happened to be listening, and anyone nearby to hear and see his little show.  Walking to the door he let the shredded and stained sheets drop carelessly to the floor, ridding himself of the only thing covering his well endowed, naked form. 

Standing behind the door and out of sight he muffled his voice with a well placed hand and said in his sweetest, most polite voice,

“Do come in, I’ll only be a moment. Thank you dear.”

The door creaked open and the middle aged maid bustled in pushing her cart, too preoccupied with her normal routine to even notice the room or it’s sole occupant.  

Dean’s carnivorous eyes, now burning the color of dirty gold raked her body and assessed that while she was much too old for his carnal desires she was indeed perfect for his most basic need, the need to kill. 

Strong, practiced hands - the hands of one who once protected the innocent from the likes of him - easily found her throat, snapping her pale neck before she even knew she was in danger. 

The sickening crunch sent a delightful shiver up his bare spine and he decided to make use of his favorite tool, the weapon that had formed his blood-lust.  The blade of bone was like an old friend holding his hand.  With practiced ease the teeth obeyed his command, slicing her from navel to breast bone and spilling her insides across the hotel floor adding to the bloody mess left from his broken Angel before swiftly severing her head from her shoulders.

The dull thud of meaty flesh as the decapitated head hit the ground was like music to his ears.

Taking a deep breath through his nose Dean simply stood over the decimated corpse and inhaled the metallic smell flooding the room like a hell hound savoring its meal as he lapped the fresh blood from his free hand, sucking on his fingers like a child, greedily snacking on their favorite sweet. 

A stab of pained shock and horror tugged at the back of his mind and his grin widened.

Castiel had seen exactly what he wanted him to. 

The hand holding Cain’s blade began shaking at that mere touch of Castiel’s psyche, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed a shudder running through his entire body as the murderous blonde realized his fun had only just begun. 

Castiel had fueled a fire inside him and had dug his own grave by giving Dean a taste of what he had to offer. 

No other man, woman, child, human, Angel, Demon or otherwise would be able to give Dean the satisfaction he had gotten from the Angel with the eyes of Frost on a winter’s night. 

He could massacre and maim and fuck as many people as he wanted and now he knew, there was no one who could feed his Hunger the way Castiel could. 

To think he'd barely scratched the surface of what delightful, glorious, morbidly painful things he could do to that poor, innocent Angel of the Lord.  

When he was finished there would be no innocence left.

Heading to the shower the Hunter turned on the water and stood under the scalding spray, the water drenching the tiles as it ricocheted off his firm, tan, blood soaked skin, the shower curtain torn and useless lying in a heap in the corner of the room, left there at some point during their earlier endeavors. 

The plan in his mind began to weave itself into glorious perfection. 

“Oh Castiel.” Dean purred into the steam filled air.

“I think it’s time you and I go Hunting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW it's really short, but only because I have a very long and elaborate chapter to write after this.   
> So, be patient, much more disturbing Deanmon to come.   
> This Hunting trip will be nothing like you imagine (at least, I hope so). 
> 
> Pray for Cas.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it despite the length.  
> Comments keep me going! Thank you everyone for the new kudos!
> 
> <3  
> ~Em


	8. Hey there Little Red Riding Hood.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes Cas Hunting. For real.   
> Camping time for our beloved Angel and his Demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I APOLOGIZE FOR THE DELAY IN UPDATES!   
> Horrid family stuff going on. Should be able to update more more frequently from now until the middle/end of month. Then Yule will be busy, then should have more free time.   
> I know this chapter is short, but it is well worth the wait, keep reading my loves. The next chapter will be very dark and dirty. <3  
> I adore all the comments! And thank you for the kudos!!!  
> ~Em

 

The woods were quiet, too quiet in the opinion of the tousle haired man with the eyes of azure, eyes which were profoundly troubled, shadowed by the deep furrow of his thick, ink black brows, worry lines creasing his pale forehead, high, stubble covered cheekbones made even more prominent by his significant, recent weight loss, a tell tale sign of the stress and lack of food and sleep he’d managed to get the last three days.  

These thoughts among many others swirled around in his mind as he mutely followed the stoic, equally silent flannel clad figure directly in front of him.  Dean had gloated about his latest murder with all the proud amusement of a cat who’d brought a mangled, near dead thing home as a morbid present and token of its obvious superiority. 

He’d then declared they were to be going Hunting.  Of course this raised an immediate red flag for the Angel, since he couldn’t picture Dean doing anything to help anyone or for any kind of selfless reason.  Unfortunately for Castiel he couldn’t let himself leave Dean to go hunting innocent victims anymore, and the fact that Dean’ made it clear he needed Cas along made him want to agree to anything his once best friend requested of him. 

After all, he’d wanted to be a Hunter at one point in his sad little life.  So what was there to lose?  It’s not like Sam would be keeping tabs on the eldest Winchester.  Someone had to.  It was the least he could do.

At least that’s how he justified packing a very small bag of belongings he borrowed from the bunker and giving Dean the ok, riding three uncomfortable, silent hours in that confining – once memorable car of Dean’s until they made it here, LostWood, deep in the North Dakota Wilderness and hiking the two hours it took to reach the summit.  His thoughts caused him to nearly collide full force into the solid form in front of him as Dean studded abruptly, fortunately he was still agile enough to side step the silent man and hop his way over the broken branches before them.  Dean quirked a thick well groomed brow at his companion and gave a hearty chuckle. 

“Easy there Cas, don’t want to scare off the game right away.”

Castiel cocked his head to one side in confusion, looking much like an adorable trench coat clad Labrador.  “Game?” he asked.

Dean sighed patiently and hefted the large camping duffle from his shoulders, pulling a set of metal poles and canvas free from the main pack. 

“I did mention we were going hunting didn’t I?  Now help me set up camp will ya?” 

If possible the obsidian haired Angel looked even more perplexed, his wide, starry, cobalt eyes taking in the scene in confusion and his brain struggling to catch up.  The idea that Dean meant Recreational Hunting, like normal humans did for Sport had never occurred to him.  He didn’t even know the Winchesters knew how to hunt... animals.  Sam on more than one occasion had voiced his disapproval of killing innocent creatures just for the fun of it he’d merely assumed Dean felt the same.  In the back of his mind he was glad that they wouldn’t be killing any people during this trip, as guilty as he felt for the inevitable death of any living creature, he wasn’t sure how much more manslaughter he could stomach.  He shouldn’t have been allowing himself to be a part of any of it.  But oh how he loved that man… that amber haired, absinthe eyed Demon of a man…that lost Winchester who’d stolen his heart so many lifetimes ago from the second he’d gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition.    

Look at them now.

Again his thoughts left him standing silently staring into nothing while the eldest Winchester had the forest green two man tent already put up. 

“Hey! Earth to Castiel!” the older man jumped at the sharp snap of fingers next to his ear.  

"I’m sorry,” he ducked his head apologetically and knelt by the pack to await further instructions. 

“I’ve never been camping.” He admitted quietly, avoiding that calculating and critical green gaze and busying himself with removing the contents from the smaller pouches. 

“Well, I’m not surprised, but you’ve at least seen humans do it before right?  Watching the world from your cloud up there with the Almighty.”

Castiel couldn’t help but catch the spitefulness in the Winchesters tone though his face betrayed nothing as he continued unpacking. 

“Yes and Jimmy…” he cleared his throat as his voice cracked at the mention of the dead man who’s body he wore brought an onslaught of guilt to the surface. 

“My vessel had memories of camping with his family, I recall only the feelings of happiness associated with the time, not the motions I’m afraid.” 

If Dean noticed his emotions he simply ignored them, deftly digging a fire pit and lining it with large rocks, 

“It’s getting dark, nothing else needs unpacked tonight, I’ve got my bow and all the valuble stuff in our tent, just put the bag next to it and secure it with the tarp.  We should start a fire just to keep any predators away and eat some of the packed food just to tide us over till morning, that’s when the real fun begins.”

Dean winked slyly and got to his feet dusting off his hands on the front of his black dickies. 

“I’ll go get some wood, think you can get some kindling going?”

Surprisingly Castiel did know how to start a fire, Bobby had given the Angel a lesson once what seemed like ages ago.  He nodded and began to drag the pack towards the tent, making sure it was tightly pressed against the side and then covered completely with the spare tarp.  It took him less than a minute to achieve a good enough spark from the flint to catch the dry brush in the pit on fire and with a few well timed breaths the little pile was happily crackling and burned brightly welcoming Dean back as he came stomping over, bow legs bending at the knee as he knelt to add a few fair sized logs to the fire.  He clasped a large hand on his companions shoulder and smiled almost cheerfully though it held something wicked deep in his eyes, something the flames only brought to light every other flicker of the flame. 

“Good job.  Now, how bout you help me relax and we can both put each other to sleep?”

Dean's voice was like velvet but it slid off his tongue like ice, chilling Castiel to the bone, no fire would warm his heart tonight, though his body was already burning with desire. 


	9. Into the woods

The only signs that the camp site had been occupied recently were the ebony squares of freshly burnt coal within the hand dug fire pit lined precisely with stones. The single, two person tent looked strange with no other camping gear to be seen. There was no warmth to the site, no table with chairs, no food coolers or fishing gear. It was efficient. Not a place someone would be found while relaxing. Not a place you'd picture escaping to for fun. Lonely.

  
No one would have guessed that just hours before the owners of the pair of boot prints leading away from the zipped grey tent door had been immersed in untamed, ruthless yet somehow intensely passionate intimacy with one another. Ragged breathing and hard, wet sounds of flesh on flesh were lost beneath the cries of pleasure as Castiel broke his own oath and gave in to his body as it ached for release. 

“Please!“

“Please?”

"Dean-please..."

"Please what?"

“Please, I need... please. Please let me come, I can’t take it anymore-“

“Such dirty words Castiel, who knew you were such a little slut.” Dean’s words, though spoken harshly, sounded like praise as he pulled the angels head to the side, one hand firmly tangled in the mans hair, his handsome face etched with pain though his body and begging told a different story.

  
“Look at me Castiel! Look at me!”

Dean demanded as his other hand released his vice like grip on Cas’s throbbing, painfully swollen member, his hips quickening their already breakneck pace, slamming himself into the gloriously tight ass presented to him. 

Castiel’s worshipping gaze met the decievingly human green eyes of the man behind him and he pressed himself back into Dean’s thrusts, moaning and arching his back like a cat in heat, biting his lip until his teeth punctured the soft skin as he was finally allowed release, the feeling pouring over him like a tidal wave, sending his brain into overload. 

After cleaning themselves off briefly, Cas had rolled over to his side of the tent and readied himself for sleep, though his eyes stayed on his companion, his mind ever restless. 

To the Angels surprise Dean hadn't even made any nasty, vulgar or soulless remarks, merely pulled his sleeping bag up to his chest, leaned his sweat slicked head back onto his laced hands and let out a long content sounding sigh before closing his eyes in sleep, looking as if he had not a care in the world. 

Unsure of himself, and of the actual mood of the tents other inhabitant it took more than a few minutes of deep, steady breathing and repetitive, reasuring internal dialouge before he finally let himself relax. One set of muscles at a time he felt the tension in his shoulders ease, then his back fully sunk into the plush softness of Sam's sleeping bag and his and after shyly watching Dean's unnaturally innocent face for a minute he let sleep overtake him, slipping easily into a peaceful slumber, for once in a long while actually feeling as if there might be hope for Dean. 

One absinthe eye opened, followed by the other as Dean's heightened senses picked up the change in the celestial man's breathing signaling his emersion into sleep. 

He swallowed the urge to sneer in contempt at how quick he'd been to trust him again. Castiel had made it clear he was going to be no great Hunter, as he'd barely proven to be a novice outdoorsman. He listened well and learned fairly quicky but his fawning and hopeful demeanor gave the dirty blonde a bad taste in his mouth. Not allowing himself to brood Dean contented himself with the knowledge that everything had gone perfectly as planned and his skin tingled in excitement as the beast within salivated impatiantly for their Hunt to begin. 

Closing his glittering green eyes once more his Demon smiled ferally in the dark as he soothed himself into sleep with the promise of sweet, hot blood and better yet the thrill of what he could only hope would be a marvelous chase.


	10. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep in the North Dakota Wilderness Castiel gets a taste of the thrills of Hunting with Dean and finds it is much more dangerous than he'd ever imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this next chapter, and there's much more to come. Hope the length makes up somewhat for the wait!!   
> Comments always appreciated, thank you all for the continued support and for all the Kudos!! <3
> 
> ~*Em*~

The tranquility within the immense forest was disrupted occasionally by the snapping of twigs under misplaced boots and the scratch like sound of underbrush as it snagged on the heavy, camo print, army issued cargo pants that clung loosely to the lean, bowed legs of the man leading his companion purposefully through the trees and threatening to pry the fabric free from the tops of his tan, steel toed leather boots. His short cut, dark, honey blonde hair glinted with sweat in the patches of sunlight that managed to break through the pine forest canopy like streaks of gold and white fire.  

Obviously the more skilled outdoorsman, the leader of the pair sported a matching green, polyester, army style jacket over a black, underarmor tee.  Fitted snug across his well muscled chest was a thick strap that centered the weight of his full sized, navy blue hiking pack and secured tightly to that was a dangerous looking, sleek black compound bow, a quiver of arrows slung over one of his broad shoulders.  


From first glance alone he exuded the air of a seasoned huntsman, but it was the pace of his stride; unhurried but certain, the set of his lightly, stubbled jaw and the intense lines furrowing his thick brows that gave him the look of a man with a mission.  His jade green eyes were focused intently on the seemingly endless forest ahead. 

His companion followed with a hint of uncertainty that could be seen in the wary look within his gaze.  His eyes, the foundation on which God created the color of endless blue skies and vast shimmering oceans was now clouded as a brewing storm.  The brown boots he wore made only a whisper of sound as they ghosted along the leafy debris covering the forest floor, though the lack of sound seemed to be a product of miraculous chance rather than skill. 

The pack on his back was black and made for school supplies rather than outdoor use, his pants were merely dark denim jeans, buckled to his waist with a worn fabric belt, his top half covered by a well worn, plaid, cotton, long sleeve button down which hung open over a gray vneck polo, both shirts looked as though they had been borrowed or handed down, too wide in the shoulders, too snug across his chest and comically too long for his torso so the hemline brushed nearly to the bottom of his jean pockets giving him the look of an ill prepared teenager forced to participate in a family vacation. 

As it so happened his clothing along with most everything on his person and stored neatly in his pack was borrowed.  The grim concentration on Castiel's face softened briefly, remembering the circumstances through which he had acquired his impromptu camping gear, though his steps never slowed as he continued trekking with determination after his stoic guide.  

~*~*~

 

It was pure chance that the raven haired Angel caught the glint of silver in his peripheral vision.  If the sun hadn't been piercing the tree canopy in just the right way Castiel wouldn't have had a chance in heaven or hell of avoiding the Sig blade that arced gracefully through the air with such deadly intent. The knife missed its target, aimed for a crippling blow near the top of his boot which would have severed a main artery just above his achilles tendon.  

Caught off guard and severely inexperienced in hiking, hunting or survivalism, Castiel just barely avoided his partners attack by jerking his knee towards his chest and half jumping, half tripping side ways and crying out at the hot, sharp sensation of surgically sharp steel parting the muscled flesh of his lower calf, the denim of his pant leg giving the blade no resistance, he hadn't even heard the fabric tear.  

The wound must have been deep, the logical voice somewhere in the back of his mind thought as his wide eyes glanced briefly towards the site of his injury before searching once more for his ominously absent assailant. 

His actions were panicked as he came out of his small, hindered leap and his uninjured leg jolted with the landing of his booted foot along the top of a large gnarled knot of tree roots that grew like creepy snakes across the forest floor.  

At the same time that his foot slid off the side of the roots the pain in his other leg pinched and his prior assessment if a deep cut was confirmed without a doubt as bright red fluid suddenly splattered the greenery surrounding his legs.  It had taken a moment for the gash in his leg to produce blood but once it had begun it drenched his pant leg, sock and boot within a matter of seconds.  

The wounded and shaken man was forced to focus on the sudden snap of a branch beneath him and he gasped as his ankle gave out from under him, twisting at an unnatural angle as his shoe embedded itself in the pocket of deep roots which curled around his stuck toes like tentacles of bark.   

He landed with a grunt of pain after flinging out his arm, diverting the main force of his fall onto the the palm of his right hand though he couldn't stop his hip from slamming nearly as painfully into the rich, red soil beneath him.  

The dark, nearly burgundy earth all but overwhelmed his unearthly sense of smell, the sharp, almost sour tang flooding his nostrils as the barky mulch dug into his shaky, sweat soaked hands leaving innumerable, nearly invisible splinters across his palm and fingertips as he brought his arms forward, one hand reaching to free his foot from the vice like grip of the forest, while he pulled his fallen pack closer with the other.  

Adrenaline and shock flooded his much too human body and the injured once celestial being ended up having to use both hands before he was finally able to unzip the school style back pack Sam had graciously packed for him.  Cas had been very grateful, but it didn't stop him from checking the bag for a transmitter once he was alone.  The bag had been clean, stocked with things Cas would have never even known he needed, much of it he had been at a loss as to what purpose it served and most of the gear he'd have been unable to use had Sam not been Sam and planned on his naivety and lack of outdoor knowledge leaving him a nice little hand written instruction guide and index of the backpack's contents.

Right now he needed bandages and he attempted to find them in a plastic tote labeled "Med Kit".  If only he had his Grace still he could heal himself!  But the last of his Celestial power he'd used days before transporting himself and Dean from parking lot to trashy hotel.  

Unable to find a large enough bandage he grabbed something else he hoped would help, popping the plastic top off a can of antiseptic pain relieving spray he applied a liberal amount of the medication, sucking in a surprised breath at the unfamiliar and unexpected freezing sensation that followed.  Even with his minimal knowledge regarding human injuries Castiel knew the cut was deep enough he’d  have to close the gaping wound by stitching the skin and _soon_ if he had any hope of staunching the freely flowing blood.  Already he felt weak and nausea began spreading like ice through his gut  leaving him to fight back dizziness.  Despite the circumstances he couldn't help marveling at how fragile the human body could become so easily yet how much it could also endure.

The sound of a dry branch snapping under the weight of something heavy echoed through the trees eerily like the snap of a bone and he unconsciously shuddered.

The noise managed to clear the fog from Castiel's head long enough to allow him to focus on what he needed to do next.  He knew he had little time before his body would shut down, energy leaving him along with his blood.  He needed to get the wound sealed before the loss of blood incapacitated him and left him completely defenseless against the predator he knew without a shadow of a doubt continued to stalk him.   Yet if he stayed where he was any longer with only the thin cover of underbrush hiding him and an obvious blood trail leading straight to his resting place he might as well stand and accept the inevitability of his demise at the hands of the sadistic man hunting him, the man who wore the face of the one he loved.  

The thought weighed heavily on him nearly enough he almost did just that, the cold reality crushing him.  His heart felt as if it had been ripped clean from his body leaving behind a depthless bleeding void in his chest cavity.  A wound that's pain almost eclipsed that of his physical injury and made him long for his life to end here, now, by his own hands.  For what was the point of living when the one you loved wanted you dead?  

A rustling of dry leaves reached his ears as the predator continued stalking his prey, drawing closer every second.  Almost immediately after the sound reached him he heard the sharp trill of a western meadowlark echo through the forest calling out warning to all who heard it.  Danger!  Danger!  The cry warned from somewhere behind and to the right of the injured Angel and Castiel mentally thanked the wild watchmen of the forest canopy as it gave him the encouragement he needed to push away the despairing thoughts that threatened to overcome him.  

He would NOT become another hapless victim of the monster that wore the skin of his dearest and first friend.  

If indeed it was his time to die, he would NOT make it easy and he certainly wouldn’t let himself die at the hands of Dean Winchester.  

He may have been a mere shadow of his celestial self, a forsaken, graceless Angel trapped in the mortal body of his vessel and truly forsaken by his own father, brothers and sisters but Castiel would never lose hope that one day everything would be restored to it’s rightful order.  

He would not give up on all of Heaven even if they as they had unfairly passed judgement on him and cast him out to wander alone as though he were no better than his fallen brother Lucifer.  

He would not allow his loyal friend Sam Winchester to lose his brother, the only family he had left.  

Even if Dean hated him for it in the end Castiel vowed he would find a way to return the Hunter to his human self, his soul entirely free of the darkness that the demonic presence now controlling him had brought out when he had accepted Cain’s Mark.  

In his shock and anguish he’d temporarily lost sight of his purpose.   

Death would be the easy way out of this.  

But no, he would not be a coward, he would not abandon the Winchesters after everything they had been through together.  

He would live, for there was still much work to do.  While the task at hand may not have been an order from Heaven he still felt he had a duty to fulfill to the young men who he knew in his heart were more important to this world than they would ever realize.  Without their influence in the constantly waging battle between the forces of good and evil the Darkness that plagued the earth would have long since been able to devour the human race.  It was truly remarkable what the two of them had already accomplished together, how many lives they had saved, how much good they had done.  

Yes, it was absolutely clear now that he had to find a way to save Dean and he would not stop searching until he did, which meant he needed to live and to live he needed to put as much distance between himself and the man who was currently hunting him like he had once hunted Demons.  The only way he could manage that was if he found a place to hide long enough to stitch his wound before he passed out from loss of blood.  If that happened he be as good as dead.  He refused to die at the hand of Dean Winchester.  

The wounded Angel took a deep breath, drawing on his new found strength, mentally readying himself for what lie ahead.  He dug into his pack again until he found what he sought, pulling out Sam’s 8” Briko-5 MK68 pocket knife, carefully flipping it open before beginning to cut away the lower portion of his already slashed pant leg.  When he’d finished his wounded leg was completely exposed from slightly below the knee down.  Closing the tool he pocketed it for easy access coming to the grim realization that it would be his only real weapon if Dean did catch up to him.  

He’d cut the faded blue denim so it was now one long strip and proceeded to wrap it around his blood soaked calf, covering the wound and pulling the open skin together as his shaking hands managed to tie the fabric together in a knot as tightly as he could possibly manage sucking in a pained breath and biting his lip to keep from crying out as pain shot through his entire leg and his vision blurred as he fought down the urge to vomit what little food he’d eaten that morning.  Blinking rapidly he made himself breathe deep, slow breaths until his vision had cleared and he was able to open his mouth without fear of losing his last meal.  

Offering a silent prayer that his makeshift bandage would slow the bleeding long enough to allow him to find a suitable hiding place that would be secure enough for him to more permanently close the formidable gash and also allow him enough time to rest so he might regain enough strength to find his way back to the only place he was hoping Dean would not follow, back to the only ally he had, the only one he could trust, Sam Winchester.  

Castiel replaced the antiseptic and zipped the black backpack before shouldering it once more and clamped his teeth together to cut off the noise of pain that threatened to follow.  Moving as silently as he could manage with such a heavy limp he warily broke away from the thin cover of his resting place.  Watchful cerulean blue eyes scanned his surroundings without pause as he slowly made his way in the direction he hoped led towards the last town he remembered passing before he and Dean had entered the vast expanse of wilderness he now wandered alone.  His directional skills were nearly as rusty as he’d once admitted his “People Skills” to be and he couldn’t help regretting he hadn’t paid closer attention when Sam had explained how to tell one's location based on the signs in the earth around them, the position of the sun, moon and the many stars that made their own constant map in the sky night and day.  Of course at the time he’d foolishly thought he would be able to rely on Dean's superior outdoor knowledge if the need arose.

Out of habit the dark haired Angel found himself asking his Father to guide him to safety.  Not for the first time his faith was rewarded with only silence and Castiel, Angel of the Lord was once more reminded of how alone he truly was.  

 

A small, feathered body flopped about pitifully in silent agony on the debris strewn forest floor.  The brightly colored birds mangled wings flapped uselessly at its sides as the poor, terrified animal attempted to push through the fallen leaves, thin scaled legs unable to carry his body due to the added weight of the steel hunting bolt which had impaled him mere moments after issuing a cry of warning to the fellow inhabitants of his forest home.  

The marksman had expertly loosed the arrow with the precise amount of force as to pierce through the slight body of his target just enough to remain lodged with both ends visible.  The tip stuck a couple inches out of the chest and the remainder of the shaft and multi-colored fletching protruding from the back of the doomed creature making movement nearly impossible as the bullet point tip of the arrowhead dug into the dirt beneath his broken frame.  Tiny black talons scrambled to find purchase beneath him, now his only hope of escape as the delicate bones of his wings had been cruelly crushed underneath a heavy, steel toed boot.  

The wicked looking, broadhead continued to act as an anchor, the four razor edged blades leaving a shallow trench along the ground as the lark continued his feeble attempt to flee from the predator that followed him still, waiting so patiently, watching with eager and inhuman eyes.  The spotted brown and black wings began to still and finally the bird was forced to come to a stop, his small body drained by his frantic efforts.  The bold yellow feathers covering his chest rose and fell rapidly, tiny heart beating much too fast, a small trickle of blood had begun to drip down the length of steel that had burst through his breast bone and the patient Hunter bared his teeth in anticipation, unable to hold himself back any longer, the crimson liquid calling to him and reminding him he had much bigger prey to bring down.

However this creature still had to be punished for hindering his much anticipated Hunt, and he decided he’d have little more fun with his victim, after all he could simply excuse it as practice for when he finally caught up to his real quarry.

Using one hand he lifted the bird from the ground by grabbing hold of the arrow shaft and flipped it over, grinding the fletching end a few inches into the hard packed earth so that the poor thing now hung chest up impaled high enough off the ground that his wings barely touched it.  The predator decided It was a shame he’d had to puncture a lung in the first place to silence the bird for he would have enjoyed the sounds of terror and agony it was attempting to make as he began meticulously carving into the tender, unyielding feather covered skin.  The meadowlark uselessly clawed at the hand weilding the tool that so easily sliced through his flesh and bones alike as he flailed helplessly, suspended in the air with no hope of escape and the futile efforts brought a sadistic smile to Dean Winchester's shadow covered face as he stuck the blade deeper and deeper with each cut, occasionally rewarded with a spray of sticky hot crimson as his blade severed major arteries.   

He watched with twisted amusement as the charcoal colored beak continued to open and close with silent screams as its body was carefully dissected with near medical precision so that the creature was alive for as long as possible as it was mutilated beyond recognition.  The once beautiful bird now hung lifeless, reduced to a bloody mangled pile of feathers, flesh and crushed bones and still the monster hovering above his trophy reveled in the feel of his blood soaked hands and the spatters that covered his face, so fresh it was still warm.      

Pleased with his work of macabre art he stood swiftly and sheathed his knife without bothering to clean the blade, turning his back on the violent scene with a sense of exhilarated purpose, now even more eager to track down the object of his lust… blood and otherwise.  Setting out at a pace much quicker than his wounded prey it was obvious something evil had truly awoken in him, his humanity giving way to a much darker presence.  For now his eyes did not return to their normal glittering green but remained flooded with depthless obsidian and the determined, twisted smile on his face never faltered as he stalked after his Angel.

His thirst would no longer be sated with the blood of any other than the prey he most longed for, he licked his lips and let out a terrifying chuckle into the silence of the forest around him.  

“Oh Castiel, run if you can, but I will find you.  Ready or not… here I come.”


End file.
